


Contagion

by OneLastMiracle (orphan_account)



Series: Untitled [20]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:50:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/OneLastMiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John, you need to leave right now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contagion

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series of small drabbles, done for the 30 Drabble A Day challenge. Not necessarily connected, can be read as a standalone or small parts. All stories are not necessarily in the same universe, so there may be little to no continuity. Enjoy!
> 
> (Also: Yes, I am aware that anthrax cannot work that quickly, and that's not actually what it does, so this has no accuracy whatsoever, but I use it because everyone know anthrax=death. If you wanted medical accuracy, this ain't it.)

“John you need to leave. Right now.”

Sherlock’s voice was oddly calm, an absolute juxtaposition to his words and panicked eyes. Sherlock never panicked.

And to be honest, that should have been his first clue; the man who feared nothing was afraid. 

“Why? What’s wrong, did something happen? Are you-?”

“ **Stop.** ” The command stopped him dead in his tracks, Sherlock’s outstretched hand almost touching his chest. “Don’t come any closer. Please, just- do as I ask.  _Leave._ ”

John’d never heard his flatmate so desperate, enough so to beg. That was an accurately disconcerting statement.

“Sherlock, what’s going on?” John’s eyes went to the detective, checking him over. No obvious wounds, blatant abnormalties: Sherlock was wearing his pyjamas and blue robe over them, his hair a mess and a pair of goggles masked half part of his face in clear plastic. John returned his gaze to Sherlock’s wide eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

The answer was obvious, John didn’t even hesitate to think about it.

“Yes.”

“Then leave the flat.”

“Not until you explain.”

Sherlock groaned exasperatedly, making John quirk a brow.

“Yes, you want an explanation, okay fine. Leave and I’ll give it to you.”

“How-?” But John’s question was cut off when Sherlock pulled his mobile from the front pocket and waived it in answer.

John sighed, before taking his own phone and heading down the stairs. Sherlock called after him, “And take Mrs Hudson too!”, and order which he also obeyed. 

Once he had the poor old woman out of her flat (she’d been taking a nap, bless her), he called Sherlock, ready for an answer.

“Alright, explain.”

“The flat has been… compromised.”

“The flat.”

“Yes,”

“As in  _our_  flat, the one  _you’re still in?_ ”

“Precisely that one, yes.”

“ _Why?!_ ”

“…While experimenting with a medical sample, I may have regrettably released… a contagion… of sorts.”

“A contagion.” John repeated dumbly.

“Yes.  _Bacillus anthracis,_ to be exact.” _  
_

A short pause before John was able to respond. “Anthrax. You’re telling me, you exposed yourself, myself, and Mrs Hudson to  _Anthrax._ ”

“Completely by accident I assure you, but yes.”

“Christ. How did you even- I don’t want to know, never mind. Have you called the HPA?” John’s voice dropped as realisation dawned on him. “You’re still in there aren’t you.

The reply was reluctant. “Yes…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,  _why?!_  You need to get out, you’ll be exposed-“

“I already am. I directly inhaled it, a complete lapse in judgement and all scientific reasoning, to identify it. I should better stay in here.”

“ _You glorious bastard.”_

“Sorry, what?”

_“You arsehole.”_

“I don’t-“

“This anthrax, it’s a new strain isn’t it? Fast acting. That’s why you haven’t called HPA. You know they can’t do anything.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I know you,  _you twat.”_

“John, I-“

“ _How long?”_

No response came.

“ ** _How. Long._  Sherlock?**”

A cough greeted John over the line. “Minutes.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m a  _doctor,_  I can help, just let me-“

“ ** _No_!** ”

“But-“

“ _Please, John, just-…_ Stay where you are. Stay away.” Sherlock’s voice was beginning to fade into coughing.  _Minutes._

“Sherlock, I can-“

“You can’t. Remember the case? The vic was a medical doctor and he couldn’t save himself. There’s nothing you can do…”

“ _ **No**._ ”

“John, you can’t-“

“Shut up,  _no_. You cannot just go off and be an idiot and get yourself killed. I’m  _not_  letting that happen, not again.”

When Sherlock’s voice came again, it was soft, strained. “ _John._ ”

“Shut up. I’m not letting you die.”

A pained laugh sputtered over the line. Blood was beginning to fill his lungs, slowly choking him. “I’m sorry.”

“No,  _stop._  Stop it right now. Don’t you-” John’s voice broke. Crying now.

“John, I-“

“No, I didn’t just get you back for you to die again, no.  _Please._ ”

“Denial is th’ first stage ‘f grief…” He was slurring now.

“…Please. Please, Sherlock, I can’t lose you again.  _Please, don’t._ ”

” ‘m so s’rry John.” A raucous fit of coughing ensued.  _Seconds._ _  
_

_“_ Sherlock-… please, I-“

The line went dead. 


End file.
